


Gambit

by orbitingearth



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Tragic Romance, coldwar AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6771883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbitingearth/pseuds/orbitingearth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by and loosely based on the Decemberist's song Bagman's Gambit</p><p>Set during the cold war in the 1950s, Mungojerri and Munkustrap seem to keep meeting and benefiting from each other's tendency for double crossing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

To my left, diagonal from my shoulder about six steps up. Just within my periphery without having to put in any effort to glance further to the side, was my target. He stood on the capitol steps, watching over the square below for any signs of suspicious activity. So basically, he was looking for anyone like me who might bring up a ruckus in the area or endanger the capitol’s precious classified information. But I knew how to conceal my motives and I knew how to spot a cop while he was dressed in civilian clothes. Apparently, he didn’t know how to do the same because I remained undetected, not even the slightest notion of being noticed. 

The plainclothe shifted, scratching his ear and yawning. He was more suspicious than me, standing alert and unmoving. Shoulders too square and back too straight to be anything below formal and attentive. Military trained. I noticed that his boots needed blacking and the third button from the top of his peacoat was of a slightly lighter shade of brown, most likely a replacement. Or, if he was more than a cop and our files were incomplete, which was a rarity, then it was a false button, hollowed out and containing microfilms. I wouldn't ever know, however, because this was a public area and it wasn't my job to search the body... this time. There wasn't anything interesting about him, standard american shorthaired, grey and apricot coat. He had abnormally long whiskers on his forehead and seemed to favor his left leg. From what I had read, he was an old war vet, somehow having survived the battle of the bulge after being dropped into the flooded farmlands of northern France. one of the lucky ones that were far enough away to avoid anything war related beyond the harsh winters and lack of actually good supplies. I wondered if he would be able to smell the gunmetal in my palm, having familiarized himself with it back in '45.

I adjusted my leather gloves, thanking the chilly weather for giving reason for me to wear them. Otherwise, I would be burning up and thick leather work gloves in warm weather are extremely noticeable. Keys, coins, and a wallet rattled in my coat pocket as I ascended the steps, keeping the cop on my ten o’clock and within sight.

Left glove ready, I passed the cop, bumping him with my shoulder and pressing the nose of my concealed pistol, tucked within the palm of my leather glove, to his side. Hidden by my purposeful accident, the pressure of my pistol to his ribcage caused the single shot to fire. Once again, I thanked the chilly weather as the noise of the shot was muffled by his layers of wool and cotton.

Mumbling a “sorry,” to please the few civilians that might have witnessed what looked like a simple shoulder bump, I continued to ascend, hearing the satisfying thump as his body fell to its knees and rolled down a few steps.

Slipping into a shadowed archway, I disposed of my gloves in a nearby trash bin and made my way inside. I glanced at the Brumidi at the top of the dome and smirked. Americans and their neoclassical obsessions always confounded me, wanting to be like Rome, wanting to be a superpower that expands and colonizes all in the name of their own personal "greater good." Capitalists. I was a revisionist by nature so the fairy tale of Germany never declaring war on the United States seemed like the better outcome of the war. They would have retained their neutrality and the USSR would fill that power vacuum to the brim. Maybe I would own a nice flat in Kursk and be paid more than slightly below the measly minimum wage. Or maybe i would never have gotten involved in government work and would have been drafted, now lying under the snow somewhere in the countryside of France. A guy could dream. 

It was then I noticed the thin, cold, nuzzle of a gun resting to the back of my neck. With steady hands I raised my arms. Capitol police must catch on fast if I’m already being detained. the small bustle of people that had previously been winding through the arched barrel vaults and carrying all sorts of papers and briefcases had disappeared, leaving the strange hollow echo of my breathing and the reverberation of the pistol’s safety being turned off. 

"What seems to be the problem officer?” I asked, in my best false accent, keeping my expression and tone neutral. I knew how these Americans worked. Hint at any kind of sarcasm or tonal aggression, intentional or not, and they use that as reason for brutality. if I even look at the berk wrong and he will use it as an example of assaulting an officer and there goes my Kursk flat. I had enough scars and bruises, I didn’t need to add to my collection at this moment, so play nice was my best bet. 

"You're under arrest for the murder of Officer Rumpus.” The officer to my right had a smooth voice, young and with a bit of unsure waver. A newbie, probably never arrested anyone for anything more than littering. 

“And do you have proof? I was just making my way to the west wing, I’m meeting a friend for lunch I have her name and everything if you need.” I could feel the gun, now warmed by the contact with my neck, shift back and forth ever so minutely, the other cop must be new as well to have such an unsteady hand in an important time that requires absolute stoicism. I tried not to smirk. These two would be easy to finagle. “I promise you boys, go ask the secretary of agriculture for Mrs. Teazer. She’s my sister you know, I ain't seen her in a while and this will be our first meet since I moved to London.”

“Bailey here saw you bump into George and then he just fell. I’m not sure what you did but he’s dead and you’re the only correlation we could see as of yet.” The amount of hurt seeping through the young officer’s voice was hard not to laugh at. Weakness and personal connection where two things that made me not even have a hint of respect for the American force. 

“Tell me,” The young cop next to me nodded, I could see the uncertainty in his eyes as they walked me through a hall, most likely to their holding pen for further questioning. “Wouldn’t it be more logical to assume that he was shot from afar, or maybe, since he’s the old type, had some kind of stroke? I think it’s unfair to just blame me when I merely bumped into the lad.”

“Well… we can’t just let you go without a proper body search. And I think it’s a might suspicious that you are so calm like.”

“I’m calm cuz I’m innocent you berk.” I spat. Honestly, the logical jumps these boys were making, although correct, were annoying and tedious. 

The one without a gun pointed to my neck opened a small door with a cloudy glass window and the words “security office” almost completely scraped off. The office itself was shabby, unsurprisingly, and seemed to have been forgotten by everyone except the two boys that some fool had hired as guards. I was walked past a paper cluttered desk to a small barred cell with a bench and a sink. Compared to previous haunts and detainments, this was luxury, and the two boys (or at leas the one I had been talking to) seemed partial to conversation so there wasn’t any fear of becoming bored. 

“I’m gonna call the chief to see what we should do next, can you keep an eye on him Bailey?” Finally being able to see the other half of the duo, I watched the young guard nod his head as he sheathed his gun and took his perch on a stool by the door of the cell. “Oh, and have him empty his pockets too.” The other guard said before exiting the room. The one on the stool, Bailey, stood again and walked over to the cell, unlocking it and closing himself in. Careless child.

“Ok I gotta pat you down and empty your coat, if you try anything I have a gun and am pretty strong for my age.” He smirked, motioning for me to lift my arms before patting his hands down my sides and digging into my pockets, tossing my belongings into a small plastic tub just outside of the cell. 

“You a sleeper or something?” he asked, leaving the cell and picking up the tub to rifle through my belongings. I glared at him but made sure to cover it with false hurt and such an accusation. 

“And why would you think that? I’m, as I said, just trying to visit my sister. I promise, she works here. legitimate and everyhtin.” 

“Well, you got microfilm coins for one and this key here,” He picked up my keychain, choosing a bronze one and pressing the side, revealing my secret knife. My stomach flipped into my throat. “You’re equipment is a bit outdated. We just got a briefing on all your little spook doodads and stuff last week. I may be young but I know what kinda stuff to look for in a sleeper pocket and I know how to tell the difference between a mint and a hollow coin.” he tossed the three nickels in the air and caught them again. I could feel the panic and fury rise within me but I had to hold strong. Even if I did get arrested for being a spy, I was good at holding my story straight and I wasn’t flying naked. I had people on the inside to back me up and tons of details and alibis that would ensure my eventual release. 

I had developed a nasty habit of pacing when I got nervous. Anything to keep your lips sealed and your head clear I suppose. But In this situation, where I was under watch in a small cell, the urge to pace had to be suppressed. Nothing is more suspicious than a foreigner being found with spy equipment in his pocket and pacing a rut in the cell of the US capitol basement after the assassination of a plainclothes officer. 

Bailey, although still visibly nervous, had a smug smirk creeping on the corners of his mouth. Most likely at the thought of a possible promotion for capturing a red spy at such a young age. He placed the plastic tub back onto the desk and returned to his stool by the cell. We sat in silence, my mind racing as to how to handle my predicament and berating myself for being careless. Honestly, I also somewhat blamed my handler. He knew I was an intelligence collector, not a damn assassin so it was inevitable that this would be an imperfect job. 

The door to the office opened and the officer from before walked in with an older looking woman. I showed my visible surprise to see a woman in uniform, especially since most jobs provided to them in the states were labor based and it’s almost impossible for them to rise in ranks. Wondering what in god’s name she could have possible done to prove her legitimacy in this position, she walked over with a glare that stared me down like I was her next prey.

She was old, possibly at the youngest fifty, and carried herself like a hefty and strong Irish Catholic mother. Her coat was the most interesting visual about her, which is saying a lot considering the immense presence this woman had from just walking into a room. It was not only striped like a tabby but contained leopard spots dispersed among the orange fur, giving her a unique and almost exotic physique. 

“State your name and business dear.” She said in a sweet voice that somehow simultaneously commanded authority.

“Mungojerrie ma’am, I’m here on holiday trying to visit my sister when these two caught me and accused me of murder and spook activity. I promise ma’am I wouldn’t even dream of hurting this fine country.” 

“You’re a Londoner?” the question caught me off guard, momentarily forgetting that I was putting on an act.

“Yes ma’am and proud of it.”

“My husband always rants and raves about London. He was part of the railroad expansion from Ireland to the main cities before the war. It’s lovely in the spring i’ve heard.” She shooed Bailey out of the stool so she could take the seat herself. While the small talk was pleasant, I was almost positive it was meant to butter me up and get me relaxed enough to miss a detail and slip up my information. “Now,” Bailey handed her the plastic tub of my belongings to her outstretched paw. “These are some interesting objects Mr. Jerrie. Some of these are very likely to get you sent to some serious trials and prison time. And, although I’ve only exchanged a few words with you, you’re a charming young man and i would hate for you to just… disappear. Your supposed sister wouldn’t be too happy about that, would she?”

“Are you trying to strike up some kind of deal miss…”

“Jennyanydots.” She gave a small smile and adjusted her uniform hat. 

“Miss, Dots. Because, I have nothing to hide and nothing to prove besides my innocence.” 

“I’m afraid that’s impossible dear, because this is incriminating evidence and if you’r backstory and alibi don’t explain the microfilm and pair of leather gloves concealing a small pistol I found in a bin in the front lobby, then I guess you’re out of luck.” the condescending tone her voice took as she spoke and unscrewed one of the nickels, showing the microfilm I had planned on dropping off with Teazer was aggravating. “Now, there isn’t much we can do right now, and I certainly don’t want to be known as the officer that let a spy get away, but we do have two options.” Her eyes lifted and met mine with a steady gaze. 

“First, you admit your motives, go to jail, and are subjected to whatever the CIA wants to do with you.” She held up a single finger. “You will most likely spend a considerable amount of time locked up and will be interrogated.” She lifted another finger and smiled again like a grandmother would her relatives. “The other option is that you spend considerable amounts of money and waste considerable amounts of time on a trial that may not be even granted to you, and you gamble with walking free or more likely being locked away and eventually looping back to option one. It’s up to you dear.” And with that she stood and left me alone with the two young guards again. 

Neither option seemed in my favor and I knew that my odds were stacked against me. Again I cursed my handler for assigning me this stupid task. I supposed that the first was more likely the best bet, since I didn’t have the money or any hope of finding a good lawyer and Jenny had been correct in that I wasn’t even going to get a trial at this rate. Sitting on the small metal bench that was bolted to the concrete wall, I let my head fall into my hands and finally showed my emotions to the young officers that hadn’t stopped staring at me with their big naieve eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

When the CIA says that they are to interrogate you, it’s code for brutal torture until you give them what they want. Whether or not you are admitting the truth, if you find yourself in the hands of the United States Government, it no longer matters what is the actual truth. If they think you’re guilty then you’re sure as hell going to give them what they want. In training, we had learned about speculations and the few accounts of survivors in this situation, but many of those who had been caught by the United States were either dead or mentally too far gone to give us any actual preparation. Additionally, multiple years of holding POW’s and the planning of a potential nuclear war would speed up the technology and methods of systemized brutality that they would need to squeeze out any bit of information from us commies. I had made sure to take note of every second I experienced so that, if I got out alive and well, I could report back to my comrades about what kind if games the Americans liked to play. 

The body cannot withstand over eleven days without sleep when in average to good health. A beaten and starved body that has been supporting all it’s weight on it’s arms, causing nerve damage within the first 48 hours, can maybe last eight days but I was still counting and pushing my luck on the experiment. If I had money or a pack of dodgers I would bet them on making it to nine since I was feeling lucky. This being said, I currently found myself in the process of “interrogation” as they kept me standing in a room, my hands chained above my head and only an inch of space between my sides and the cold metal walls. My knees ached and my arms had already succumbed from the strain of supporting my body weight, all the blood drained downward and leaving nothing but numbing pins and needles and pain if I made the mistake of shifting myself even a fraction of an inch. The damage would be irreparable and I prayed to god that I would at least be able to hold a pencil properly if I ever got out of here. I hadn’t slept in days, the risk of causing more damage to the nerves in my arms too much to allow my legs to buckle under the strain. The downside is that I had to try extra hard to keep my resolve or else my sleep deprived brain would mess up and reveal my web of lies. 

I hadn’t admitted to anything yet, I was a resilient son of a bitch and knew how to hold my tongue while also giving them what they wanted. You can’t hope to infiltrate the United States capitol without multiple backup stories that creates a win win situation and you can’t hope to stay alive in a position of any kind of power in the USSR without knowing how to keep your head down and your tail between your legs while simultaneously showing how utilitarian you are. In this case I lied that I had been forced into the task of assassinating George, with the threat of death to my sister from the KGB. The best thing about working for the USSR is that the United States knew that the trail would go cold immediately if you try to fit the pieces together. My story was sealed tight and they wouldn’t even try to check the sources if everything within reach seemed plausible.

The window of my small room slid open, allowing me to meet a familiar gaze of two pale blue eyes on a grey and white furred face. My heart leapt and I thanked god for double agents and the United State’s inability to see that even their own residents can hitch a ride on the red train. Or at least, find ways to benefit from the ride without actually turning coats. 

“Well, if it ain’t my favorite bagman.” I said smugly, receiving a glare and a hiss that bounced off the metal walls and caused my ears to ring,

“Shut it or we both die, this is not the place.” Munkustrap whispered as he opened the door and helped me down from my shackles and acted as my support as I was led down a twisting hallway to a small room with a table and two chairs. The dark window off to the side of the room and horribly hidden bug to the left of a fire sprinkler on the ceiling let me know that we were being watched and listened to intently. 

“Sit.” he stated bluntly. The look in his eye was clearly readable: I don’t know you and you don’t know me. I understood the severity of the situation, although the light at the end of the tunnel was suddenly and pleasantly blinding. “From this past week’s interrogation it has become clear that, although you are responsible for the murder of one of our officers and for supplying information to an unknown receiver within our government, you were under threat. With this, we have decided that the valuable information you have given us is enough and your only punishment is revoking your visa and sending you back to… England."

I nodded, understanding . This wasn’t going to look good on my record at all and will probably result in a suspension from my duties, if not then complete termination both from my job and my life. 

“Alright, now that’s that in order, I will be your escort to the airport where you will be under watch your entire trip to the United Kingdom.” Munkustrap pulled me up by the arm, ignoring my painful wince, and led me, once again, through what felt like an obscenely long labyrinth of hallways until we reached an elevator. Once inside the elevator he released his grip and shot me the quickest smile before returning to his serious persona, hoping no one saw his faux pas. But, it was enough to let me know that we wouldn’t be going to the airport that night and I wasn’t going to see England any time soon.

The elevator opened in the back of a warehouse on the outskirts of D.C. that seemed to store old car parts and discarded surplus war packs that were unneeded when the battle ended. The whole place smelled musty and old with an undertone of cold dampness and mold as we quickly padded across the shelf lined room. After a moment I was dragged off to the left where we continued on until we found a small door off to the side that opened to an empty lot, save for one car seated on the gravel. It was a black, 1940 Ford Woodie that had been kept in beautiful shiny condition. The wood grain on the sides showing a mesmerizing pattern that seemed to map out my escape to freedom. 

“Get in.” Munkustrap instructed, opening the passenger door and letting me sit down, hands still cuffed. The whole car smelled like new leather and the underlying hint of nice cigars. Either Munkustrap liked to curl up in the lap of luxury or this wasn’t his car and we had another loose end that needed to be eventually fixed. I was less than worried about any screw-up’s at the moment, more focused on getting to whatever safe haven my friend had set up for me and getting to finally sleep. After I had settled into my seat, Munkustrap took his place behind the wheel and sped off. 

“You’re very lucky Mungo. If they hadn’t given me your file then you’d still be down there with your arms slowly ripping off by your own body weight or would be escorted to England and have to figure out how to get around West Europe sans proper papers without being caught.” Munkustrap kept his eyes level and forward, never giving me a glance. It was how he always had been and I understood that but the thought of being looked at and having that silent confirmation of an ally would be comforting at this specific time. Eyes give answers that lips keep sealed away, I had learned that while in Prague, trying to get codes from an enigma runner hidden in the city. Munkus had been an excellent ally to me in the past, selling me information and documents that I was otherwise unable to obtain. How he manages to stay employed by the US government undetected is an amazing feat in my book and I hoped we’d be in each other’s presence long enough some day for me to find out. 

“You look awful by the way, I almost didn’t recognize you when I saw your photo. They really did a number.” He took an exit off the main road that continued on to a residential street. “I’ll have to call in some medical help, I don’t know much beyond basic stitches and tourniquets."

“You taking me to the airport or someplace a little nicer?” I asked with a smirk. 

“We both need to disappear for a while so it seems that we both got on that plane. I’m dropping you off at one of my shelters and I’ll have a friend come pick you up in a week when things get covered over by other emergencies and suspicions. Fair?”

“Seems so.” I shrugged. 

His car sped through the winding streets of D.C. until the large buildings dispersed and shrank into smaller personal homes and eventually hilly countryside with speckles of trees and farms. Upon the horizon a large storm sat, a canopy of dark clouds and rain that we would be driving into. 

“You can stop with the fake cockney by the way. The car isn’t bugged.” A small snort punctuating his sentence was the only indication of a casual setting and familiarity. 

“It’s fun though!” I smirked, thickening the accent. “I’d rather be constantly on alert than risk having jaspered and my red showing.” My tone becoming more softer and serious. “So, what have you been up to since I saw you in Kaliningrad Munkus?”

“Don’t call me that.” He grumbled before continuing. “I’ve been laying low, collecting information and potential clients within the embassy. Tying to make a comprehensive list of double agents and dangles. Not only will it make my job easier so I don’t have to tip toe around topics or risk my hide but I can sell the list to actual embassy members and bureaucrats for quite the pretty penny.” 

The car took a relatively sharp turn, jostling me against the door and producing a small grunt of pain to which I received a small “sorry” from Munkus who, once again, had yet to take his eyes off the road for even a second. 

“Speaking of losing jobs and the like,” I gazed out the window, feeling guilt creep up my spine as the mention of the traitor list reminded me of my own possible mistake. “Is Teazer alright? I mentioned her as an alibi but I don’t want her to lose her position or go through what I did just because I was cocky.” 

“Last I checked she was taken in for questioning but the CIA never interrogated her to the full extent. Since your story of being forced into the situation seemed to work I think she was let off the hook. Can’t speak for her job at the capitol though. Hopefully that doesn’t lead to complications back at the Kremlin for her."

“If she loses her job then she loses her job job. It’s hard to score a long term plant as a woman in our line of work. She wouldn’t be given a second chance.” I muttered out the window. Small raindrops had begun to hit the glass and the landscape was much more wooded and hidden. The road less cared for and broken, causing the car to rumble and jolt at every pothole. I wished that I had direct contact with my sister so that I knew she was alright. 

“Hey,” I looked up at the touch of his paw on my thigh, rubbing comforting circles into the pant. “I’ll make sure to let you know if I hear anything. While I’m laying low I still haven’t lost all my embassy connections nor my position in the ranks and I know how to send coded and untraceable telegrams or letters if need be."

“Can we stop talking about this tomtit? All this stuffy rain and shitty asphalt is makin me carsick.” Grumbling, I curled up in my seat, wincing at the pain that shot through my arms as I attempted to get comfortable and closed my eyes. I hadn’t slept in weeks and although the motion sickness was prevalent, the soft rumble of the engine and the smell of leather and expensive cigars was enveloping me in a comforting blanket that I was going to utilize. 

“Whatever you say MJ.” Munkustrap chuckled, switching on the windshield wipers to a higher setting, causing them to rhythmically squeak against the glass. “We aren’t far anyway so I wouldn’t get too comfortable.”

I muttered something that wasn’t quite words, my exhaustion draining any energy or chance of coherent communication from my mind. I was too tired and in too much pain to care that Munkustrap would have to deal with waking me up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not that big a fan of writing out how accents sound because of my dyslexia. It's easier to just write the slang and speech patterns within the sentence structures and let the reader imagine the accent. Nothing against those who do decide to do the whole phonetics thing, just my personal preference. That being said, I am trying to add in cockney slang terms to make up for my lack of phonetic spelling and am still getting my footing in terms of making the characters not as OOC. 
> 
> Just to note, in this AU, (if I hadn't made it clear but I hope I did) Mungojerri and Rumpleteazer are both Russian born and raised and have natural Russian accents when they speak English and aren't "in character." Currently, Mungo is using a cockney accent.


	3. Chapter 3

The cabin Munkustrap had taken me to wasn’t anything special. If anything, it was less than generic and teetering on minimalistic. Set up like a studio space the only room beyond the main one was a small loo off to the side that might as well have been a detached outhouse. The place came equipped with one twin sized bed on a simple wooden frame complete with two blankets and a pillow. A potbelly stove and small iron log trough. A sink and small ice box were hooked up next to the bathroom and a spigot outside for what I assumed were exclusively cold showers. Other than that there was a simple woven rug and a trunk holding who knows what and that about filled the space, not including the three by three square of floor that we now stood in.

“Charming.” I stated semi-sarcastically, making my way to the bed so that I could finally get some much needed rest and relieve my knees from their painful duties. The weight of my body hitting the old mattress expelled dust into the air that had collected from however long this safe house had stayed uninhabited. I tried to hide my cough but the dry soreness of my throat wouldn’t allow that so I surrendered to a short bout of hacking into my sleeve. Once I had finished Munkustrap finally spoke, having politely waited like an actor in a comedy waiting for the audience to cease its laughter. 

“You rest up and I’ll get a fire going and fetch some food from the next town over; it’s only about a twenty minute drive. If I’m not back in an hour then there’s supplies under the floorboards and a gun in a false bottom in the trunk. But I doubt anyone’ll find this place, it’s not even on the grid.”

“How did you come across it?” I said through a sore voice and small coughs that still escaped at each inhale. 

“My dad and I built it as a summer stay before mom passed. Me and Tugger made it into a safe house for temporary hiding needs. The water is connected to a stream out back and it has it’s own generator in a box outside with tons of gas and repair equipment. You’ll get acquainted with the few nooks and crannies it has to offer these next few days. There isn’t much else to do around here besides read the three books I have somewhere around here.” He glanced about, reacquainting himself with he room and most likely trying to remember where his books were so he could stop any boredom that might creep up on us early on.

I nodded and climbed under the hand sewn quilt. Although the boxspring mattress was old and lumpy, it felt like the most comfortable thing I had laid in for years. To be frank, the mattress could have been composed of needles and hot coals and I would have found it extremely comfortable my exhaustion taking away any pickiness that I might have. 

The sound of Munkustrap opening the stove and throwing in a couple logs faded away as some much needed sleep took hold of my consciousness and I drifted off. 

I am someone who rarely dreams, sleep usually being light and empty to keep alertness and the possibility of evading danger easy. However, the feeling of security knowing that I had been hidden away and had Munkustrap as my protection allowed for the deepest sleep I had had in years. The brain will play from four to six dreams in a night after entering REM sleep but these will mesh together and eventually be semi forgotten fragments as one wakes up and goes throughout the day. In my life I have only remembered a handful of dream fragments, either ones that would serve as a good anecdote to share with my sister or they were poignant and scarring enough that I couldn’t forget them even if I wanted to. My first night in the single room cabin I had one of those poignant dreams. The specificities were lost immediately upon me waking up but I do remember a sense of dread and loss and the need to cry openly. 

A loud crack of thunder woke me and I sat bolt upright in bed, immediately groaning and hugging my chest as my whole body wracked with pain. The room I was in was dark and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust and my memories to come back to me and remind me of my whereabouts. The stove’s last surviving embers cast a dim but warm glow on the floorspace, showing that Munkustrap had fallen asleep sitting up, leaning against the front door with the other blanket loosely draped on his shoulders. He must have come back quite a while ago. 

Wide awake and restless, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, immediately regretting my decision to move as pain shot up my arms and radiated through my body. Instead, I decided to sit there, not wanting to move again, and stare at the dark wooden wall. The fire must have gone out some time ago because as I woke up a bit more I could feel the cold draft coming from the storm outside and my teeth beginning to chatter. Having the second blanket or even the warmth of another body was my immediate want and I turned my head to glance at Munkustrap once again.

“Oi, Munkustrap,” I called slightly above a whisper. His whiskers and left ear twitched but didn’t stir beyond this. “Oi, Munkus.” I called more loudly.

This time he cracked one eye open before shifting and stretching his arms up, his back popping loudly and his expression and flattened ears showing that he was annoyed with being woken up. 

“What do you want?” He grumbled, adjusting himself against the door and wrapping the blanket a bit more tightly.

“Aren’t you cold down there? You can share the bed… if you want?” Moving as gingerly as possible, I made space so that, if he decided to take up my offer, we could platonically spoon and both share two layers of blanket. Munkus seemed to think about his decision for a moment before shrugging and getting up, dragging the quilt behind him.

“Careful,” I muttered as he slid into the bed, lying face to face and carefully pulling the blankets over us. We both kept our arms crossed to our chests, not wanting to invade personal space beyond what was already being done, and staring at each other in the darkness. I felt safer, knowing that Munkustrap was only a fraction of an inch away. it is within our own natural genetic coding to want to sleep with others whether it be romantic or platonic. Our need for a pack lifestyle giving that sense of security when sharing a nest with another. If Munkustrap ever questioned my reasoning for him to share my bed beyond the need for warmth, I could easily share this ditty, but I knew he wouldn’t. Munkustrap was trusting almost to a fault when it came to me and my sister. I could hear his heavy breaths beneath the large patter of rain on the aluminum roof and the layers of sound created a pleasant white noise that allowed me to fall asleep once again. This time, if I did dream, I didn’t retain any of it but the following morning I felt legitimately well rested. 

While i was still sore and in dire need of medical attention, it wasn’t an unwanted feeling to wake up without any hint of exhaustion in a small cabin int he woods. The warm sunlight filtering in through skylight windows in the roof, making the small cabin fully lit with the morning sun. Munkustrap was already up, grooming himself by the small sink, undershirt buttoned only halfway and suspenders hanging loosely by his hips. Typically, Munkustrap hold his tail very close to his legs, wrapping around one ankle or hovering just above the floor, it lowers any chance of getting it grabbed and it retains natural emotes from being read. As I watched him by the sink he let his tail sway about, lifting high off the ground and showing his relaxed mood. The added movement to his demeanor was refreshing and fascinating since i usually had a very hard time reading his face. 

I could have watched his morning routines forever but he turned around, having spied movement in the mirror, hair slightly bristled, and he gave a half smile before returning to his duties. 

“Morning.”

“Yeah, same to you” I pulled the quilts from my legs and tried to at least sit up, although any arm movement hurt like hell, I wasn’t about to be pitied and sitting in bed all day wasn’t on the top of my list of things to do. Despite my mobility difficulty, I managed to hobble across the small floor to the skink and shoved Munkustrap out of the way so I could wash my face. He didn’t say anything, only grunting in annoyance before stepping to the side to throw logs into the small stove. My morning routine was less extensive as his, mostly consisting of a general light grooming and one quick inspection of the mouth int he mirror before returning to the side of the bed to sit down again and relieve my legs of their strain. 

“I sent a telegram to D.C. I have a friend in the city who can help check out your injuries and give a more legitimate assessment for you. She should be here this evening and will stay with us during the night if that’s alright. She doesn’t like to drive after sunset.” Munkustrap crouched by the potbelly stove, in one hand he held an old spatula and in the other he shifted sizzling bacon in a cast-iron pan back and forth. The smell wafted over to me and made my empty stomach ache and a wave of hunger nausea cause me to lie back down in the bed. 

“Sure, whatever helps me not hurt all over works. Is she a trusted ally or do I need to put on airs?”

“Not like you’re gonna break character anyway but yes, she is one of the few I can wholeheartedly trust. She used to work directly with the USSR and decoded enigma messages for them near the end of the war.” Taking the spatula he scooped up the bacon and placed it on a plate, handing it to me before laying a few more pieces on the pan for himself. “My only recommendation is that she does have a few paranoia issues so if she needs extra details or reassurance of facts don’t give her a hard time.”

“Noted,” I replied through a mouth full of bacon. The salty warm strip tasting like heaven. I had been living off of rations before coming to the states and in interrogation I hadn’t been given any food so as a first meal it was wonderful. I swallowed the piece whole, feeling the melty fat and grease remain on my tongue in a delicious residue. 

"Don’t eat too fast or you’ll get hiccups.” Munkustrap chuckled as he sat on the floor, back against the bed. I found my eyes lingering on the back of his neck and his broad shoulders, sturdy from years of training, accentuated by the dark stripes that ran along the whole of his body. Light speckles of scars littered his bare arms where hair no longer grew, showing his past scuffles, many of them coming in groups that matched claw marks while others were more likely from bullets grazing his skin and knives cutting a little too deep.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” I was stirred from my trance and realized that Munkustrap had turned to look back at me. He held a smirk on his face, diffusing any awkwardness the situation might have caused.

“Sorry, wounds fascinate me.” I quickly covered my embarrassment with the first excuse I could make. Only because I didn’t want to spend another night freezing because I made our friendship tense. Munkustrap only hummed in response, keeping his opinion vague as he continued to eat his meal. 

Munkusrtrap took on the task of cleaning the plates in silence, neither of us having much to talk about in the lull. In the past we could easily banter because we were int he thick of things and needed to keep communication and plans clear. Now that there was nothing going on, I was at a loss of words and I hated it. There’s nothing worse than being stuck in silence, watching Munkustrap wander about a tiny cabin, muttering to himself about how to improve the infrastructure. 

“Munkus, you’re driving me mad, don’t you have any cards or something we can play?” I wined, finally sick of my safe house becoming another jail. 

“I might have a deck somewhere, let me check,” He paused, eyes lit at the prospect of having something to do. Munkustrap bent down in the center of the floor, prying up the loose floorboards and rummaging around the straw insulation. “And don’t call me Munkus.” he muttered, pulling out a few odds and ends before shouting a “eureka” when he found a small tattered deck of cards. Since I was bed bound and could barely keep myself standing without eventually complaining Munkustrap’s ear off, he pulled over the chair and small card table that was folded up against a wall, which allowed me to stay on the edge of the bed while we played whatever games we could think of.

As it turned out, the deck of cards was missing the four of hearts, the jack of spades, and a few of the clubs, so we ended up making our own rules to each game to make up for the lost cards. This resulted in three separate accounts of bickering about if I was cheating, which I was but I wasn’t about to admit that, and about if we should start gambling which Munkustrap was very much against. Before long the sun was setting and there was a loud knock on the door, releasing us from our card hell.

She was small, lithe, and had a look in her cold blue eyes that told me she was all hardened and prepared for anything. Her red and black striped coat was like fire, it reminded me somewhat of Teazer but Teazer was soft. This cat was very much dangerous if she wanted to be. Despite this, she greeted us with a warm smile and wore very homely clothes, a simple pencil skirt and blazer combo, all of grey wool and fastened with a leather waist belt. 

“It’s been a while Munkustrap, good to see you are still on one piece.” Her voice carried a sweetness and familiarity. All around, this girl was interesting. She turned to me, her warm smile still there but a caution set into her eyes and the smallest hint of suspicion laced into her voice. “is this the one I’m looking over?”

Munkustrap nodded, pulling our a chair for her. Before sitting she dusted off the seat then elegantly placed herself on the chair, taking off her blazer and hanging it on the back, beneath the coat she wore a simple white blouse with a small ribbon tie collar. She held out a gloved hand, expecting em to shake it.

“I’m Demeter, a long time friend of Munkustrap.” i shook her small hand, giving her my usual crooked smile.

“Mungojerrie, communist spy and information collector extraordinaire.” She chuckled, her mouth pulling up and forming small dimples on her cheeks. Then, like a light switch, she stopped, looked me dead int he eye, and grabbed my arm, beginning her examination. It was completely silent as she bent my arms and legs every which way and looked over the scabbing cuts on my stomach. 

“Well, there’s not much I can do without an actual hospital and access to surgery, your arms, while usable, are gonna hurt for a long time I’m afraid.” She bent my elbow, studying my facial expression as I winced in pain. “I can give you some pain relievers and disinfect your torso wounds but other than that just don’t lift heavy thins or cause any more strain or else you’ll have two useless arms.” Demeter sat back in the chair, clearly exhausted and upset that she couldn’t do much more for me. I glanced over to Munkustrap who hadn’t taken his eyes off of us the whole time, despite the open book he held in his hands to make it seem like he was reading. 

“How long until I’ll be up and running, I need to report back at some point and really don’t wanna be declared MIA.”

“Lay low for at least two weeks, after that just gradually get back to your old… habits, whatever they might be.” She turned to Munkustrap “after I leave I’ll be out of contact for about four days but then you can call me for whatever you want.”

“Alright,” he muttered from beneath the pages of the book

“For now, what kind of sorry excuse for dinner are we having tonight because I can get started on that if you wish. Oh,” She turned back to me, bending over to dig through the pocket of her coat and pulling out a small baggie. “Painkillers, in a sense. I don’t have any prescription access and honestly there aren’t many good ones for your state so just smoke this.” She tossed it to me then walked over to Munkustrap, pulling the book from his hands. I looked at the small baggie and its contents. Papers for blunts, a box of matches, and about a quarter of pot. 

“Now that the business side of things has been taken care of. Munkus, want to tell me why I don’t hear from you for two years and when I do it’s to fix up one of your shabby friends?” She kicked at the floor by his feet. 

“Well Deme, I’ve just been busy with the embassy and everything and-“

“No excuses, I know you and I know you can send a letter without problem. I’m your friend, not your personal call doctor. Next time you need me I expect payment beyond just a place to stay for the night and the slop you call food.” Demeter paid around the small cabin, her analytical eyes examining every nook and cranny with a judgement she felt was well deserved towards Munkustrap. All I could do was watch their exchange, feeling like a third wheel. I’m usually good at interjecting and becoming a part of the conversation but Demeter had a command for respect that naturally shafted off of her and i didn’t want to cause any more harm to her opinion of Munkustrap, even if he might deserve a few demerits.

“Well it’s hard for me to send even a telegram when you’re off galavanting through Europe. No one had a track on you, per your request, and I wasn’t about to risk digging for informants.” Although he was clearly losing, Munkustrap kept his arms crossed and his usual collected demeanor as he sauntered over to the icebox and began taking out food for dinner. “And I know that I could have easily talked to Bomba but without you around she won’t give me any kind of information no matter how low I grovel. She hates me you know.”

“Bomba does not hat you, you’ve just never given her a reason to like you.” She chuckled, snatching the food from Munkustrap’s arms and taking over dinner preparation. “Anyway, she hasn’t been talking to me either. I tired to make a housecoat when i got back to the U.S. but she had moved without telling me. I don’t know if she’s in hiding or what.” 

Munkustrap lit the stove, shoveling out the ashes into a small cast-iron pail that he kept by the front door. They were both quiet for a moment, working in a natural choreography that emphasized their familiarity to each other. Munkustrap lighting the fire and getting a small bowl of salad ready, trading utensils and spices with Demeter who was buttering bread and taking whatever he didn’t put in a salad to prepare a stew. 

“I think she’s just laying low. I would have heard if she’s in trouble so I’m sure that she’ll contact you when she feels it’s necessary.” he muttered while breaking lettuce, the crisp crack of the leaves being ripped from the head punctuating his sentence and filling the still, quiet air like a crack of thunder. Demeter only nodded of the stew pot, too worries and resigned to having been cut off to really care to listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a huge fan of this chapter but I needed to get from point A to point B somehow. At least it’s longer and hopefully this will become the standard length. Anyway, fun fact, cats don’t chew their food they just kinda swallow it.


	4. Chapter 4

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of the chemistry that Demeter and Munkustrap shared. The way they spoke and filled gaps of silence, as if they rehearsed every pause and laugh. She was a sweet girl, I admit, and I have nothing against her, but there was some kind of anxiety that would knot in my stomach whenever I became the third wheel of the conversation. I was almost glad to see her go. Almost, but not quite. The goodbyes were more bittersweet than I would have predicted.

“Send me health updates so that I know how everything goes and if I need to come back.” She said to me, a small smile on her face but her eyes somewhat sad. “And you,” She turned to Munkustrap “Keep in better contact this time."

“I’ll see what I can pull off but right now I’m trying to stay out of deep water.”

“No excuses.” She jabbed a finger at his chest before turning and walking over to her car. 

“So, pardon my asking, but did you two have some kind of thing?” I asked somewhat meekly, moving out of the doorway and back to my perch on the edge of the bed.

“We used to but it ended because of… conflicting interests. But we’ve been friends much longer than any kind of lovers so it didn’t end on a sour note, thank god.” I could see in his eyes that he was reminiscing over something they had done in the past. 

“Alright.” He clapped his hands together suddenly, making the fur on my tail stand on ending surprise. “We need to arrange your living situation for when we’re done hiding out here.” He walked over to the center of the floor and lifted up a board, revealing a small telegram setup nestled in the hay. After a split second of being in awe of Munkustrap having been able to set up an operational telegram machine under the floor of a small cabin, a wave of panic washed over me. i let up from the bed, ignoring the pain that shot through my body at the sudden movement, and lunged myself at him while uttering a very loud and shrill “No!”

We both hit the ground with a thud, Munkustrap’s body cushioning my impact. 

“Mungo, what ar-“

“You’re going to give away our location just like that?”

“I told you already, will you get off, I know how to send encrypted messages,” I rolled off of him, situating myself on the floor, back to the front door. He brushed off his pants and readjusted his tie before crouching back down and setting up the machine. “Besides, this one doesn’t go to a public or business based hub. It’s completely private. And if anyone has it bugged they’re going to be getting a lot of useless recipes instead of actually good information.” 

“Who does the message go to?” I asked somewhat suspiciously. I knew some of Munkustrap’s close friends and a majority of them did not like me.

“Sadly, it goes to my brother.” My heart dropped into my stomach with a disappointed thud. 

“Oh my god no, send it somewhere else I will tackle you again I swear to god Munkus.” In a calm manner Munkustrap pushed away the finger I had jabbed at him in frustration. His eyes heavily lidded, unamused with my outbursts.

“He knows how to get a lease without background checks in the city. We have no other choice MJ.”

“You know what, I like this cabin it’s a good cabin. I could live here and you could visit and everything would be fine and I would never have to be in the same room as that… guy again.”

This time I wasn’t even graced with a response. Munkustrap just put on the earphones and began clicking the small metal plate. I kept my arms crossed, pouting against the door. Munkustrap’s brother was unbearable and I hated that he was our only option. 

“I’d rather be declawed.” I muttered.

“No you wouldn’t, stop being a baby. I know Tugger can be a little hard to handle but you need to play nice.”

“Why does he have to come here anyway? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“He’s not. Once you’re able to go off on your own I’m dropping you off at his place and he’s going to help you settle in whatever apartment he can get."

“You’re leaving me in the hands of HIM?” I stood up again, ignoring the dizziness that crept on the edges of my vision. “Without your supervision? I know you hate me Munkus but this is a death sentence. aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, a pacifist or whatever?” 

“I am and you’ll be fine. After you’re settled and things seem to have cleared I’ll drop by to say hello but that’s it. I can’t risk having too strong a connection to you right now. Not with both of our lives still in the red and everything that’s going on with Demeter. I can’t take anymore chances,” He looked at the small telegraph machine as if it was his whole world, his eyes shining with the threat of tears, but I knew he wouldn’t show that kind of weakness in front of me. “No matter how much I want to, this isn’t the time to make sacrifices.”

Awkwardly I covered my hand to his shoulder. Neither of us were keen on PDA or any kind of physical contact for that matter, but the thickness of the air and the painful silence that was growing longer and longer between us after Munkustrap had trailed off, begged me to at least show some sort of quiet gesture of support. I could kick and scream as much as I wanted about the situation, but it was a shallow complaint of discomfort, I could deal with it and I had dealt with worse. But I needed Munkusterap to know that. I flinched at the feeling of his hand patting my own in response but I didn’t pull away. 

***

“You have everything?” Munkustrap leaned beside the door with his arms crossed. i could tell he wasn’t looking forward to the reunion either but was attempting to at least save some face, for my benefit. I patted my pockets and nodded. It wasn’t like I had much anyway. Besides the clothes on my back and the weed and pipe Demeter had given me, I had nothing. All my money and identifications had been confiscated at the capitol. I made a mental note to get those back or at least reprocessed.

“Alright, Tugger should be here any minute. Be nice, do what he says, unless it’s out of line then you have my permission to smack him a bit. I’ll be out of contact for a while but should make a house call soon. However, if you run into trouble you’ll have tugger’s contact information and he can get to me easily.” 

“You’re acting like I’m going away to military school we’ll be in the same city for pities sake.” While i was putting on a tough air, I couldn’t help but feel nervous. I had felt so secure with Munkustrap in our small cabin these past few weeks. Sleeping alone again in an empty tenement would be almost impossible, I was so used to feeling his warmth next to me and hearing his soft breathing as we slept. To be honest, I was terrified of losing him.

The sound of wheels on gravel and the sputter of an engine that had gone too long without any maintenance broke my thoughts. 

“That’ll be him.” Munkustrap muttered, moving out of the entryway and to my side. On impulse I put my arms around him, giving one last, uncomfortable hug before we parted for what could be months. He smelled musty and sweaty, and I was sure I smelt no better, but it was familiar and i was one who loathed to lose familiarity. He gradually returned the sentiment, letting his arms rest on my waist and giving a slight squeeze. 

“If you die in these next few months, I’m going to kill you.” I muttered, letting my anxiety come out. He chuckled in response. Our warm but short lived moment ended as there was a bang not he door before it immediately flew open and my escort to the unknown sauntered in. I slipped out of his grasp but let my fingertips linger on his arm for a second more before my hands fell to my sides, swaying slightly then jutting into my pockets.

Tugger was tall, taller than Munkustrap by a few inches, and most of that height was leg, and he knew it. Tight pants and a tailored suit jacket with a small scarf hanging loosely around his neck, adding to his forced nonchalance. It had been a few years since i’d seen the guy but my opinion was the same. Annoyed.

“Been a while Munk, ya know, it hurts when you only ever talk to me to get favors.”

“Well, considering our choice of career, I’d say that personal affairs can justifiably be pushed onto the back burner.”

“Oh so that’s not what this is then? You a turncoat or something? No offense, I’ll still help.”

“This is personal, I’ll admit, but not so personal that I don’t know my place, now can you house him or what?”

“Rude,” he leaned against the wall, getting comfortable for what felt like an oncoming storm between them. I perched on the small stove, feeling as if I should settle back in since this might be a minute. “and don’t think I didn’t see that touching moment through the window. I may be your brother but I know how people are in this city and god knows that if you’re trying to make this a working domestic relationship, my help can only go so far.”

“That’s not what this is about you’re out of line. I called you here to help me and a friend not get killed by our own governments, not accuse us of homosexual activities.” Munkustrap began to fume, jabbing a finger against Tugger’s nose, his face scrunched up in irritation and his posture becoming more rigid and ready to pounce. I stayed where I was, unsure of how to interject to prevent any infighting. 

“Munkus you’re supposed to go off the grid, not contract it. God damn dad’s already gonna have an aneurysm when he finds out that you’re a communist but the only thing he hates more than communists is homos. Jesus christ.” I had to stop a moment, watching as Tugger pinched the bridge of his nose. Munkustrap had yet to deny his accusations and that fact was making my stomach churn in ways I didn’t quite understand yet. 

“Oh like you’re in any better of a spot. Dad won’t spend too much time dwelling on all of my sins when he finds out his other son is a communist drug dealing harlot.” Munkustrap grabbed Tugger’s collar, about to break his oath of nonviolence right then and there. 

"ENOUGH.” I finally shouted from my perch on the stove. “Tugger you’re supposed to be helping me not agitating Munk. And you,” I turned to Munk and shot him a glare “Who gives a fuck about what your dad thinks you’re both grown men with their own forms of income. He doesn’t have to know tomtit about your personal lives. I never understood that about you Americans. Always afraid of what your parents will think of things that you don’t have to tell them and yet you are compelled to.”

“It’s complicated MJ.” Munkustrap breathed out, exhausted and seemingly not ready to overexploit things to me that I didn’t even care about. 

“It’s not complicated that’s an empty excuse.” I then turned to look at Tugger straight in the eyes. “And whatever issues you have with what you saw is to be kept to yourself because it’s unrelated and, again, none of your corn shucking business. Even if me and Munkus were in a relationship, which I might add, we’re not, you have no right to use that as a leverage against us”

Once the two brothers had settled down and resigned to staring off at uninteresting corners of the room in frustration, I let out a breath I had been holding for much too long.

“Now, Tugger, you’re familiar with the urban scene in D.C. and we need an apartment and fake names and a way to live in the city without me being caught. I need to be able to get back in contact with my cohorts without the CIA getting a whiff go my presence. Can you do this for us?”

“Yeah, I know a couple tenants who can house you without question. Rent’s not gonna be cheap though.” His shoulder relaxed, his crossed arms falling to a lower and looser position right above his hip bones. The air in the cabin cooling down. 

“That’s fine just get us a lease.”

“Alright, but what’s in it for me?”

This time Munkus stood up, speaking for the first time in a while.

“I don’t tell the embassy that you have a minor hand in the amphetamine trade in New York.”

There were no more questions asked or even words exchanged. We silently walked out, me getting into the passenger side of Tuggers old car and Munkustrap driving away in his own vehicle after locking up the cabin. He gave me one more unreadable glance as his car passed us and sped down the road, giving me a knot in my stomach and sweat on my palms. There were things he wasn’t and probably couldn’t tell me about his job, but something seemed wrong and uncertain in a way that threatened my chances of ever seeing him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been super busy so sorry about the delay. In better news, things are moving along and more characters and actual plot information will be creeping in shortly.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t anything special. A simple studio apartment on the sixth floor of a ten floor tenement. All the windows were painted shut with white led based paint that was chipping roughly on every surface, trapping dirt and dust in places I would never be able to clean. The wooden floors, once polished and smooth, were rough from furniture and feet being dragged along it. The bathroom was a place that I sadly did not feel comfortable in, it’s curious stains in the small standing shower and grimy sink reminded me of darker days in Kaliningrad that I did not wish to relive. Thankfully there was a decent sized icebox and a good nook in the bedroom I could comfortably sit in if I ever felt the need or want to start a long book. Overall, for the deal Tugger had given me, it was a great place. 

One of life’s greatest mysteries in how Tugger managed to let light hit him at the right angle no matter what room he was in. At this moment he was backlit by a window overlooking the city in my living room, his hair tinged gold by the setting sun in a large halo of hair adorning his neck and head. I would be lying if I didn’t think that he was attractive, especially with how he had his hips cocked and his expression tantalizing nonchalant. 

“So the paperwork’s in order and the landlady has housed worse people so she really doesn’t care if you’re a commie.”

“Thank’s Tugger.” I said quietly, more concerned with my lack of any kind of furniture than with holding a conversation. Although the place was a good step towards security, I wasn’t keen on sleeping alone on the floor.

“Also I have a letter for you from your sis. Munkustrap was able to slip it to me yesterday.” Immediately perking up and turning around, I saw the small grey slip of paper. Delicately taking it from his fingers I opened the note and felt a refreshingly cold wave of relief wash over me at the familiarity of Teazer’s cyrillic handwriting. 

M.J.  
You owe me a big one for this. Got back in contact with our hub back at the Kremlin and they helped me secure you a job close by. It ain’t fed work but it’ll have to do. You’re good at being a nosy snoop so have fun. Come see me as soon as you can so I know you ain’t dead in a ditch.  
R.T.

I hugged the letter to my chest, allowing a brief moment of weakness in front of Tugger, needing the moment to allow myself to relax. my sister was safe and I would be working close by. Looking again at the letter I saw a small address and name for me to go to whenever I could. 

“Thank you for this Tugger.” I turned back to the main coon and gave him a small smile. 

“Yeah it’s no problem,” he paused to think a moment, his eyebrow quirking in a way that made me feel uneasy. “But if I get in trouble for carrying around a note in your little rectangle commie letters then you owe me Jerrie.” He jabbed a finger somewhat playfully into my chest but with enough force that I stumbled back and painfully hit a sconce against my shoulder blade. 

Hissing and grabbing at the spot I slumped against the wall, a bit ticked at Tugger who seemed unfazed by the moment. The burning sensation against my bone was fading into a dull ache that would mildly bruise. I flicked my tail in irritation as I stood back up and firmly squared my shoulders. The sun was setting lower than my windowsill, darkening the room save a soft orange glow spread across the floor and sliced by our long shadows. Tugger’s face was silhouetted in darkness, he seemed to be distracted by something within his thoughts, looking slightly past me, at a spot on the floor. 

The room had become completely dark, only the light from streetlamp and across the street windows giving subtle lighting and establishing shapes within the shadows. Tugger still hadn’t moved and neither had I. The silence had been heavy, something I didn’t feel comfortable with breaking.

“I need to ask a favor of you. You don’t have to complete it immediately or within the year.” He finally spoke, turning his head to me and voice lacking it’s usual carelessness. “I have a friend who went to Petrograd after the war to visit old family, they don’t have any government connections, but I haven’t seen or heard from him. You have all sorts of connections, I know because you wouldn’t be alive at this point if you didn’t.” He seemed to waver, as if this was a matter of life or death, which it very well could bee and seemed like. “I need you to dig around and try to find any hint of what’s going on. I haven’t been outside of the country for years but I know it must be a disaster over there what with the war and the nazis and Stalin.”

“Tug, you’re rambling. I’ll see what me or my sister can find out. I know Russia has become a lot more exclusionary these past few years, especially with this arms race going on. If anything your friend was stripped of his ability to leave the country or have contact outside of it.” 

He nodded, not wanting to continue the conversation then quietly made his leave. Once the rickety wooden door closed behind him and I hooked up the chain lock, I was at a loss. My empty, dark apartment and the silence that lingered beneath the muffled conversations of tenants above and below me, and the street bustle outside, was sickening. 

There are forms of torture back home where they lock someone up in a dark, soundproof room then leave them. The absolute silence and lack of echo or sight leaves the eyes to over adjust, creating their own images. The mind will eventually lose it’s footing and, if left long enough and brought just about to the edge of death but not quite, it is possible to dredge out any information you need. I had the honor to interrogate one of these poor souls during my first few years of spookdom. The man looked unreal, like how a body will look made of wax in an open casket, he looked made of brittle stone. His fur had fallen out in tufts, leaving the sickening view of cracked, dry bone hugging skin beneath. Pale eyes squinted around the room, unsure of how to handle the new brightly lit surroundings, or if they were even real. He sat, shaking in his metal seat, an old wool blanket was hung from his shoulders but he seemed to make no effort to wrap is tightly around himself and stop the chill. 

Once I had dryly swallowed my discomfort and steeled myself, I looked at the grimy file placed before me. 

“Die name bitte” 

He didn’t respond, either my german was worse than I could recall or he wasn’t keen on talking. Maybe both. The man didn’t even seem to notice I had spoken. I could feel all the eye staring at me from behind the two way glass and the small cameras in every corner, every eye but his. 

“Die name. Bezeichnung.” I said a bit more loudly. The man glanced but still seemed lost. 

The anxiety of my inability to interrogate properly filled my stomach, creating a sick knot at the bottom of my gut that pushed bile up my throat like hot lava. I couldn’t stop myself from staring intently at the man. At his eyes and body and mannerisms. Feeling that anxiety mixing with disgust and fear. 

I sat in the middle of my floor, keeping my gaze at the window so I had things to focus on. The memory replayed over and over in my head as I tried to calm myself. But the dark and the silence was wrapping it’s sinister arms around me and holding tight. I found myself wanting different arms, strong, solid arms that would secure my mental safety. 

It had begun raining again, the soft pattern of rain I barely noticed before having grown into a full pour. The heated heavy silence and fear that had once been suffocating me in my room was washed away with he cold, damp drafts rolling in through cheap construction and old wood. The rhythmic sound of the rain and thunder and occasional flash of lightning illuminating my vision calmed me down enough and had almost a living presence. A distant siren wailed and the muttering of people above and below me soon ebbed away. All that was left was the rain and my descent into sleep.

A bright light greeted me, one that was clinical and pierced my fresh eyes. I was brought out into a cold room and sat in a chair that hit against my back and legs in an uncomfortable way. I knew I was in trouble, that this was the beginning of a punishment but I couldn’t remember what for. No one was in the room with me but I could see that familiar two way glass and the small bugs all around, watching me. Typically in these situations I’m good at coming up with an excuse, an alibi that keeps me alive and well, but I couldn’t come up with even a small lie. The innocent “I didn’t know it was wrong” hadn’t even crossed my mind as an intercom crackled. 

“Vyberite” sounded through the room and through the core of my being. I tried to voice my confusion but my throat was dry and tight, unable o let out the smallest croak. The voice came back, repeating itself over and over. Even if I covered my ears and closed my eyes the brightness of the room still filled my mind’s eye and the voice was ingrained in my thoughts. 

“Vyberite"  
“Vyberite"  
“VYBERITE”

I sat up and immediately curled in pain, my neck stiff and my arms hurting from how I had slept against the wall. I rubbed my eyes, taking a moment to remember that I was safe. Leaning over I reached into the pocket of my coat I had thrown halfway across the room, and pulled out the drugs Demeter had given me. 

Rolling a small blunt I cleaned back against the wall and rested my head on the dirty window glass, watching the city street below. People waling about, on their commute to work or dropping their children off at school. A dog trotted along the street, no collar or leash, ducking into an alley beside my building. 

A large knock on my door startled me, causing me to drop my smoking cigarette and knocking my forehead against the glass. Grunting in frustration and pain I got up, feeling the worrisome create of my knees and I stood and walked over to the door.

“Oh.” Was all I could say. Munkustrap waited in the doorway, face unreadable and arms clutching tightly to a satchel. “Come in.”

He walked in, his shoulder brushing agains mine in a mental, seemingly accidental way. There was something off. I could immediately tell. he was quiet in a different way than his usual reserved nature. His eyes were observant and nervous, his hand still clutching the bag, still unrelaxed as he stood in the middle of my room. His fur was engrossed and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in a long time. Despite this, I was happy to see him. More happy than I was expecting. 

“I’d say have a seat but I know you dignified folk like chairs.” I snorted, trying to keep my observations low-key. Maybe a sense of normalcy was what he needed right now. He grunted in response to my quip then sat on the floor, keeping his satchel in his lap, arms wrapped securely around it. 

“Munk…” I said quietly, joining him on the floor and gently placing my hand on his knee. 

“My home got raided,” He finally sighed. “They were very thorough and found every false bottom and loose floorboard. Luckily I gave up on hiding important information in my house and usually keep it with me or other people,” he gestured to the satchel “But I’ve never been raided before. Either someone from your folk thinks I have something they want or… someone from my side is onto me and my connection to you and others.” 

He finally let go of the bag and dumped it’s contents on the floor. Microfilms, files, cards, small coded letters, and photographs with writing on the back. It was a small collection of information and secrets that, truthfully, made my mouth water. He pushed the pile over to me then stared with hardened eyes.

“Take these, I need you to burn them. Don’t read anything, don’t even glance. Just burn it in the woods outside of town. I can’t take you, I need to separate myself from any information collection. Everyone knows that if a home raid failed then they go for the source.”

“Yeah, I can do that. I probably have enough money for a bus or something to get me to the outskirts.” I paused, desperately wanting to look through the papers. “Do you….” I looked back up, staring into his eyes. “Do you need a place to hide for a bit? I’m pretty much off the grid still and you need to be somewhere they can’t find you.”

He nodded, no longer saying anything. I could tell Munkustrap was still a bit shaken. I could only imagine him coming home after work or having gone out and being greeted by a door that was ripped open and a home completely overturned and destroyed. It’s a threat. 

I inched closer, allowing my arm to rest along his shoulders, not daring give any more pressure or embrace than this, unsure of our relationship standing. I could feel the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed, controlled and practiced. I was trained to be able to read micro expressions and falsehoods but to a normal person they wouldn’t be able to see the absolute pain and fear Munkustrap was experiencing. 

It was about thirty heartbeats before I felt the weight of his head on my shoulder, relaxed and vulnerable. At least, as vulnerable as Munkustrap would allow himself to be. Par of me wished he would let down all his guard and trust me but I knew that wouldn’t happen. It was just too dangerous and stupid during this war. 

We stayed there, his head resting on my shoulder and his reliance solely on me for the first time outside of government work. The sun had risen high in the sky and warmed the room, casting a bright spot on the floor right where my legs were stretched out. The warmth spread up my legs, relaxing my muscles and causing a drowsiness to add weight to my eyelids. 

Before I could drift off an elbow jabbed me in my ribcage.

“Don’t fall asleep, we need to get some furniture if I’m going to be staying here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this story isn't dead. I'm just a slow writer and have other stuff to do. ;-)


	6. Chapter 6

Hey friends.

So I know this story has been dormant for about a year now I want you to know I haven't forgotten about it. I'm just a very slow writer and have a million other things going on so it take forever. 

That said, I did have a new chapter almost done and ready to post when. . . my hard drive died. So I lost everything. 

I know probably this isn't even relevant to say since I haven't updated in forever and not a lot of people paid attention to this story in the first place but I know a few folks were really into it so I feel I owe some kind of farewell. 

So, where to go from here. I don't know if this will continue. I lost a good 3,000 words and that kind of sealed the deal for making this fic discontinued. It will remain up because it's still a labor of love but I don't think I'll ever pick it back up.

Thank you to the folks who followed this fic and left nice comments. I wish I could have given you more.   
Deeply sorry. 

Cheers.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first published fan fiction so I hope everything is enjoyable and such I’m not that used to writing non academic papers so hopefully things aren’t too cut and dry. It might be a bit OOC but I’m trying to get used to writing for these characters and would hope that as this story goes on things will run a bit more smoothly. I would also just like to mention that this is NOT a human AU. Everyone is still a cat it just happens to be 1951 during the cold war. Hope you enjoy.


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